Stranger Come Home is about longing for steady love,
how the unlived life haunts the everyday, and how a home remembers a
relationship.

In the aftermath of a breakup, I sold all of my furniture, shoved my
books in storage, and left the city. I ran for months on end, and I
visited my parents and old friends. Staring at their front doors, living
room walls, and kitchen counters, I saw signs of the settled comfort
that I so desperately missed.

Homes have a way of holding on. If you live in a place long enough,
your belongings say something about your hopes and your past. If you
live with a partner, the shared space sings of the habits, routines, and
rhythms of your relationship. When it’s over, the house remembers your
old dreams. With every cup in the cupboard, every book on the shelf, it
reminds you of what was and what could have been.

Stranger Come Home imagines a place where losses are recovered and
everything belongs. Household still lives, backyard landscapes, and
tender portraits suggest a shared lifetime of sunny afternoons. Pictures
of done dishes, soft sheets, and leafy neighborhoods hover between
reality and remembrance. Daydream light washes over everything, but the
perfect peace can’t last. Dreams are beautiful because they are brief.

Any fantasy comes with an awareness of its inevitable, painful
absence. Regrets, nostalgia, and unfulfilled desires shadow this
romantic vision of home. To quote from Marilynne Robinson’s
Housekeeping, “to crave and to have are as a thing and its shadow.”
Things fall apart, moments only remain still in memory, and no one
really knows how to make love stay. The pictures search the faces of
family, bedside tabletops, and distant houses for signs of a world made
whole again.

The project traces a deeply personal narrative, but by beholding
everyday domestic details with tenderness, ‘Stranger Come Home’ invokes a
universal longing for a place of your own, a life filled with love, and
the fear you’ll never find it.

Stranger Come Home is about longing for steady love,
how the unlived life haunts the everyday, and how a home remembers a
relationship.

In the aftermath of a breakup, I sold all of my furniture, shoved my
books in storage, and left the city. I ran for months on end, and I
visited my parents and old friends. Staring at their front doors, living
room walls, and kitchen counters, I saw signs of the settled comfort
that I so desperately missed.

Homes have a way of holding on. If you live in a place long enough,
your belongings say something about your hopes and your past. If you
live with a partner, the shared space sings of the habits, routines, and
rhythms of your relationship. When it’s over, the house remembers your
old dreams. With every cup in the cupboard, every book on the shelf, it
reminds you of what was and what could have been.

Stranger Come Home imagines a place where losses are recovered and
everything belongs. Household still lives, backyard landscapes, and
tender portraits suggest a shared lifetime of sunny afternoons. Pictures
of done dishes, soft sheets, and leafy neighborhoods hover between
reality and remembrance. Daydream light washes over everything, but the
perfect peace can’t last. Dreams are beautiful because they are brief.

Any fantasy comes with an awareness of its inevitable, painful
absence. Regrets, nostalgia, and unfulfilled desires shadow this
romantic vision of home. To quote from Marilynne Robinson’s
Housekeeping, “to crave and to have are as a thing and its shadow.”
Things fall apart, moments only remain still in memory, and no one
really knows how to make love stay. The pictures search the faces of
family, bedside tabletops, and distant houses for signs of a world made
whole again.

The project traces a deeply personal narrative, but by beholding
everyday domestic details with tenderness, ‘Stranger Come Home’ invokes a
universal longing for a place of your own, a life filled with love, and
the fear you’ll never find it.